


love me crazy

by trishapocalypse



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, kind of age difference because harry's 18 and niall is 27 so i guess don't read if that bothers you, sugar daddy fic, sugar daddy!niall and sugar baby!harry (kind of), there's like two seconds of ziam if you squint i guess, ummm this is kind of rly fluffy and cute idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-05
Updated: 2014-09-05
Packaged: 2018-02-16 04:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2256417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trishapocalypse/pseuds/trishapocalypse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Maybe you could show me what a real meal looks like.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Harry tried to stop himself from smiling, pursing his own lips and nodding slowly. “Could I, now?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Niall nodded. “You could consider it repayment for the groceries if your pride demands it. I’ll just call it a free, home-cooked meal. What do you say?” he asked. </i>
</p><p> <i>“Alright,” Harry said slowly. “I suppose it would be educational. It would be rude of me to not show you how to properly feed yourself.”</i></p><p>
  <i>“Exactly,” Niall agreed.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>(Or: It all starts with Cheetos and Harry forgetting his wallet.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	love me crazy

**Author's Note:**

> Hiiii okay this is a gift purely and completely for the wonderful and beautiful [Melissa](okaywork.tumblr.com) because she's turned me into a Narry Believer. I really hope you all like it! It's become my baby. And I'm pretty proud of it. (And because I needed sugar daddy Narry and haven't found any. So, y'know, like almost any of my other stories--purely self-indulgent.) The standard applies: don't own, never happened, and I hope y'all like it. :)

Niall Horan was sixteen years old when he made it big through a pure stroke of luck on The X-Factor. He was just a small kid from Mullingar with crooked teeth, a big smile, and a horrible blond dye-job, but he could sing and he was charming and the judges _loved_ him, as most people did. He was seventeen when he earned his first Grammy and his first two Brit Awards; he was eighteen when his second album debuted at number one and when his nephew, Theo, was born; he was twenty when his first sex scandal came out, some random bloke from back home whom outed Niall before he was ready. And Niall had expected severe repercussions, expected Simon to be breathing down the back of his neck to deny it, but nothing came, and that was when Niall decided to embrace the public outing and just be _himself._

Gone was the awkward sixteen year old with baggy jeans and crooked teeth and awkward, fumbling encounters. Niall was twenty-one when he truly embraced who he was, loud laughter and red cheeks and all. He was twenty-two when his fourth album went platinum within a week and when his first real boyfriend broke up with him because he couldn’t handle dating someone who was always on the road. Niall was twenty-four when he started to slow down, stopped doing stadium and arena tours and poppy ballads about lost love and wanting to hold someone in favor of smaller clubs and an acoustic album that he wrote mostly with his mate, Ed, who had a voice as smooth as honey and a smile to match. 

He was twenty-five when his managers started telling him he had to produce something big if he wanted to stay relevant, when Rolling Stone did a cover story about how the Golden Child Niall Horan was on the decline, album sales slowly decreasing and his appeal with the younger crowd waning. Niall was twenty-six when he decided to officially retire from touring and recording in favor of working predominately at his studio and label that he co-owned with his best mates, Liam Payne and Louis Tomlinson, whom he had written the majority of his albums with; Niall wasn’t a fool, he knew he was outgrowing the cute little baby face that he had made most of his millions off of, and he was ready for the next step of his life, signing new talent and writing with new artists and producing the next big hit for others instead of songs staring himself.

And Niall Horan was twenty-seven when he met Harry Styles. 

 

+

 

“That’ll be thirty-four-fifteen.”

Niall watched with a small smile on his face as the boy in front of him dug through his pockets in search of his wallet. 

The woman behind the till sighed, rolling her eyes.

“I can’t—I must’ve forgotten my wallet at home,” the boy said quietly, his voice deep and, okay, Niall hadn’t been expecting _that._

“Sir, if you can’t—“

“No, I _know_ I have some cash on me, I just—“ the boy cut himself off, digging through his pockets and pulling out a faded note and some change, tossing it onto the counter. 

“Sir—“

“This is so embarrassing,” he muttered, “I just—“

“I got it,” Niall said, taking a step forward and placing his items by the register. “Just add mine to his, yeah? I’ll take care of it.”

The boy looked up at him, his green eyes wide and earnest as he shook his head. “No, no, you don’t—I _have_ money,” he insisted, “just…not on me. It’s at my flat, I swear. Can you just hold this…here for me? And I’ll run and get it real quick?” he asked, looking back towards the woman. 

The woman sighed. “Sir, I’ve people in line behind you—“

“I got it,” Niall insisted, pushing his items a little further on the belt and smiling at the employee. “Please?”

The woman rolled her eyes and rang up Niall’s items with a bored look, shoving everything into a bag. “Eighty-seven-fifty,” she told him in that same bored intone that Niall had nearly memorized in the time that he had been in line. 

Niall slid his black American Express card into her hand with a smile, barely glancing over at the pretty boy next to him, and signed the receipt without a second thought. Shoving his wallet back in his pocket, he picked up the bags and glanced at the boy. “I believe this bag is yours,” he told him, handing it over.

The boy took his with a slow nod, taking a step back so they weren’t blocking the rest of the line, and he looked down at his feet. “I have money, you know,” he insisted quietly, gripping the strap of the bag tightly. 

“Me, too,” Niall said with a bit of a self-deprecating laugh. “More than I know what to do with.”

“Oh,” the boy said quietly. “I don’t, I just—I have it, okay? I’ll pay you back, I swear—“

“You don’t have to—“

“But I _will,_ ” he insisted with a bit of a prideful pout, which Niall was almost certain was an oxymoron in some way, but it worked. “I can—I’m in uni but I work part-time and I can—“

“I’m Niall,” he interrupted, sticking out his hand. 

“Harry,” he said quietly, reaching out to take his hand. “And I will pay you back.”

“Nonsense, I’ve no use for more money,” Niall said with a shrug. 

“Oh,” Harry said, trailing off. He looked down at his feet again, toeing at the scuffed edge of his boot, and his eyes landed on Niall’s shopping bag. “Is that—“ he sighed and set his bag down, reaching for Niall’s and jerking it out of his hand, sifting through the contents. “Microwavable pizza? Cheetos? I—Is everything in here fresh out of a bag or able to be microwaved?”

“Better be,” Niall said with a laugh, “otherwise I’ve picked the wrong food— _again_.”

“You don’t cook?”

“Not unless I want to start a fire.”

Harry pouted. “Where are your fruits and vegetables? You’re supposed to eat, like, four servings a day. A bunch of bananas will do wonders for your health. And spinach!” he said with a snap of his fingers. 

“I—“

“I know; I know people say spinach is disgusting, but if you cook it right, it will make a lovely casserole,” Harry insisted. 

Niall paused for a moment, watching Harry ramble on and on about fruits and vegetables and eight servings a day and he was just so _pretty,_ with his green eyes and pink lips and flushed cheeks. Niall watched as Harry waved a hand around, eyebrows high on his forehead, as he mentioned something about trans fat or sodium or something else that Niall didn’t care about _at all_ and— “Do you always get this passionate about food?”

“Yes,” Harry answered quickly, flushing again. “Sorry, I—“

“No, no, don’t apologize,” Niall told him with a smile. “How old are you?”

Harry swallowed. “Eighteen,” he answered without thinking, and he was pretty sure there was something illegal about Niall’s eyes because they were so clear and so blue he couldn’t even think straight, and he had such an intense but carefree look about him, and Harry was confused and smitten all at once. 

“Christ, I’m old,” Niall laughed, running a hand through his dyed-blond hair, still brown at the roots since he was just too busy to call Lou and have her touch it up—not like he truly had anyone to impress anyway. 

“No, no, you’re not, I just—I just…look young, or…so I’ve heard,” Harry muttered.

“I’m nearly ten years your senior,” he pointed out with a shrug, and he wasn’t even bothered by age because, blah blah, it was just a number but—

“That’s not old at all!” he said. “The last guy I dated was in his thirties and—“ Harry cut himself off, cheeks flushing. “Not that—Not that I, y’know, that we—not that _we_ are—“

Niall laughed loudly, interrupting him. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Harry.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped visibly. “I must sound like such a slag.”

“Eh, nothing wrong with that,” Niall told him with a wink which caused Harry’s flush to deepen. 

Harry felt himself grin a little and looked up at Niall from under his eyelashes, feeling just a little more confident now that he was almost positive Niall was flirting with him. “Well, I guess I should…give you your bag back,” he said, reaching out and handing Niall his bag of groceries.

Niall would refuse to comment on how he went out of his way to make sure his fingers brushed Harry’s as he took his bag back if anyone ever brought it up because, really, it wasn’t A Big Deal. “Probably for the best. My mates always joke about how it’s a disaster to come between me and my food,” he told him.

Harry smiled and pointed at Niall’s bag. “That’s not food. That’s processed filth but, y’know, to each their own,” he told him with a grin.

Niall laughed and could feel his cheeks start to ache a little bit with how much he had been smiling. “Is that so? Processed filth?”

Harry nodded. 

Niall pursed his lips in mock thought. “Y’know, maybe you should give me a lesson then.”

“A lesson?”

“Yeah, since what I’m eating is processed filth,” he said with a grin, “maybe you could show me what a real meal looks like.”

Harry tried to stop himself from smiling, pursing his own lips and nodding slowly. “Could I, now?”

Niall nodded. “You could consider it repayment for the groceries if your pride demands it. I’ll just call it a free, home-cooked meal. What do you say?” he asked. 

“Alright,” Harry said slowly. “I suppose it would be educational. It would be rude of me to not show you how to properly feed yourself.”

“Exactly,” Niall agreed, pulling his mobile out of his pocket and opening up his contacts, handing it over to Harry. 

Harry put his number in quickly, sending himself a quick message so that he would have Niall’s number, before handing him back his mobile. “Thank you, Niall, I—I didn’t say that earlier,” he rushed out before he could forget, knowing his mother would’ve twisted his ear if he had forgotten his manners.

Niall waved a hand, brushing him off. “Don’t worry about it. I should be thanking you since, you know, you’ll be making me a four-course meal and all,” he teased. 

Harry giggled before quickly slapping a hand over his mouth to hide it. “Sorry, I—“

“Stop apologizing,” Niall insisted, reaching out to squeeze Harry’s hand. “I’ll text you, yeah? Does Friday night work for you?”

Harry nodded quickly and tried to ignore the fact that Friday was in _three days,_ oh God. 

“Wonderful. I’ll text you my food allergies. Will you make desert, too?”

“I—Yeah, I can,” he said with a nod. “Should I bring groceries or—“

“Nah, I’ll make sure the fridge is stocked. You’ll just have to bring your cute little self, yeah?”

Harry flushed and nodded, trying to hide his smile. “I suppose I can do that.”

“Perfect,” Niall decided, shoving his mobile back in his pocket. “Then I will see you Friday. But I have a feeling we’ll talk before then,” he said with a wink. 

“Yeah, I—Yeah,” Harry agreed. 

“Have a good night, Harry,” Niall told him, reaching out to squeeze his arm before walking past him and out of the store.

Harry watched him walk away with a sort of dazed look on his face, and he wasn’t exactly sure what had happened but… He felt his mobile vibrate in his pocket and he pulled it out, seeing an unknown number which he could only assume was Niall’s, and a message filled with almost every food emoji known to man along with a thumbs up and a smiley face and… Harry laughed to himself, replying with only an eggplant emoji, before picking up his bag and starting to walk home. 

It had…definitely been an interesting day. 

 

+

 

“Zayn, you’ll never believe when happened at the shops,” Harry announced as he walked into their flat. He could see Zayn out of the corner of his eye lounging on the sofa and he started to unpack his grocery bag, putting everything away. 

“Did you offer to blow someone?”

“Almost,” Harry sighed wistfully. “He was so—Hey,” he drew out with a pout, “why was _that_ your first guess?” he asked, turning to face Zayn with his hands on his hips. 

Zayn shrugged, tossing something across the room.

Harry took a step back as he fumbled to catch the item, realizing it was his wallet. “Oh.”

“You left your wallet, you idiot,” Zayn muttered fondly. “How’d you pay for the groceries? And I swear to God, do _not_ say you blew someone—“

“I _didn’t,_ ” Harry insisted. “I wanted to, Zayn, so bad—“

“Harry—“

“No, listen,” he whined, stamping his foot on the ground. “I met someone.”

Zayn smiled softly and shook his head. “You always _meet_ someone.”

“Yes, but this one is Irish.”

“Oh?” Zayn asked, raising his eyebrows, feigning interest. “He must be _different_ then,” he teased. 

Harry pouted, setting his wallet down on the counter and crossing his arms. “He is. He’s Irish and he has the prettiest eyes.”

Zayn snorted as he stood up, crossing the room; he rubbed Harry’s shoulder as he passed by him to get to the refrigerator, pulling out a beer. “Did you actually talk to this guy or just drool over him from afar?”

“Do you want to know because you’re a good friend or because you want to be mean to me some more?” Harry countered, elbowing Zayn in the side.

With another laugh, Zayn leaned against the counter and took a drink of his beer before motioning for Harry to continue. 

“He was in line behind me when I realized I didn’t have my wallet. He paid for all of my stuff—“

“Oh, God,” Zayn groaned, rolling his eyes.

“—and I offered to pay him back, like, four times and he just refused. But we started talking and flirting—“

“Of course.”

Harry scowled. “And, long story short, I got his number and I’m making him dinner Friday. You should’ve seen the trash he was buying, Zayn, I mean he was worse than _you._ Microwavable dinners and Cheetos and just…trash,” he insisted. “He needs a good home cooked meal. I’m sure he deserves it.”

“Hmm.”

“His name is Niall,” Harry added with a smile, pushing his curls out of his eyes. “And he has the prettiest blue eyes. They’re not, like, just blue, though, right? They’re… They’re…” Harry snapped his fingers. “You’re an artist—what’s that really pretty shade of blue?”

Zayn stared at him blankly for a moment. “Cerulean?”

“Yes!” Harry declared.

Zayn rolled his eyes. 

“And he’s _Irish,_ Zayn, did I mention that?”

“Yes.”

“And he’s—“

“While I’m extremely happy for you, Harry, I have to ask—what do you know about this guy?” Zayn asked.

Harry frowned. “I—He’s—I have his number.”

“How do you know he’s not a serial killer? And you want to go to his flat and make him supper? I’ve seen American Psycho, I know how this is going to end.”

“He’s not a killer,” Harry said with a pout. “You know how when you meet someone, you can just _tell_?” he asked.

“No.”

“Well, he’s not a killer. And, thank you, I was already nervous enough, and now it’s worse.”

“I didn’t--“ Zayn sighed, setting his beer down and wrapping an arm around Harry’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, H. I didn’t mean to make you more nervous.”

“I know,” he said with a pout, wrapping his arms around Zayn’s slim waist and nuzzling the front of his chest. “He’s so attractive. And _nice._ And he’s already texted me three times since we left. That’s a good sign, right?”

“I’m sure it is,” he replied agreeably. 

Harry sniffed and looked up at Zayn. “Are you just saying that to make me feel better?”

“Of course not,” Zayn said with the barest hint of a smile on his face. “Now, c’mon, want a cuddle before you make me supper?”

 

+

 

“So you don’t even know how old this kid is?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s eighteen. He’s definitely legal,” Niall said with a shrug, ignoring the way Louis slammed the door shut and stomped across his office.

“Niall, he’s after your money.”

Niall rolled his eyes. “He’s not after my money.”

“He _could_ be after your money,” Louis amended, sitting down in one of the plush leather chairs on the other side of Niall’s desk. “He’s probably after your money.”

“I don’t even think he knows who I _am,_ or…was or whatever,” Niall said with a wave of his hand, focusing once again on the portfolio in front of him.

“Then he really is a kid!” Louis exclaimed with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Anyone born in the last two decades knows who you are. Everyone had their heart stolen by the little boy from Mullingar who was selling out arenas in three years.”

Niall laughed as Louis pouted angrily across from him. “Louis, he’s not a kid, and I promise he isn’t after my money.”

“How do you _know_ that?”

“I don’t,” he said simply. “I just feel it.”

Louis frowned. “You…just feel it? Do you _just feel_ that you’re a bloody idiot?”

Niall grinned, shaking his head, and he flipped through the portfolio in front of him.

“Can you—Are you _ignoring_ me?” Louis asked.

“Yes.”

Louis reached over the desk and pulled the portfolio from Niall’s hands, flipping through it angrily. “What are you _doing_ anyway?” 

“Cover art ideas for Ed’s next single.”

“This is irrelevant right now.”

“I know,” Niall said with a big smile, pulling out his mobile and checking the time. It was barely half-one but Harry was coming over at six and he wanted to make sure his flat was ready. And, well, by that, he obviously just had to check to make sure the cleaners were thorough and that his assistant, Jade, had properly stocked his refrigerator with foods that Harry wouldn’t call _filth_ in that cute accent of his. “I’ve gotta get home. Harry’s coming over tonight.”

“His name is _Harry_?” Louis asked with a scowl. “You’re right. There’s no way he’s a child. He’s probably older than you—probably graying and peddled away his retirement on—“

“On buying a footie team? Oh, wait,” Niall teased, laughing when Louis’ frown only deepened. 

“I don’t want to talk about that, and you know it, Niall. I honestly don’t know why we’re mates.”

“Maybe because I’m the reason you made your first million?”

Louis grinned sardonically. “Yet you won’t be the reason I make my last.”

Niall stood and shoved his mobile back into the pocket of his jeans, reaching for his jacket. “And now I must say goodbye. I’ve got to make sure my flat is ready for my visitor,” he said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Did you ask Jade to pick up condoms and lube as well?”

“Of course not. Jade is a classy woman, Louis; I would never have her pick that up for me. Not again,” he added with a wink. 

Louis rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky you’ve still got the boyish good looks or you’d be a sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen.”

Niall shrugged. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“You’ll call me tomorrow with all the gory details of your shag with this Harold creature, and then we’ll meet for drinks at night with Liam so you can tell the story again,” Louis corrected.

“I’ll think about it,” Niall lied, ruffling Louis’ hair as he walked by.

“You’re an arse.”

“Love you, too, Lou.”

 

+

 

Harry stood outside the extravagant building in the middle of London, his neck aching from looking as far up as he could in shock, before pulling his mobile out of his pocket and making sure he had the right address. There was no way—There was no _way_ Niall lived in the poshest building Harry had ever seen. There was a bloody _doorman_ who was staring at Harry as if he was some sort of alien.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Harry swallowed and nodded, looking from the doorman to the automatic doors in front of him, peering in and—was that a crystal chandelier? He suddenly felt horribly underdressed in his black jeans, scuffed boots, white t-shirt, and blazer. “Yeah, I—“

The doorman pursed his lips. “Are you here to see someone?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “Um, Niall? Flat 1501?” 

“ID please.”

Harry frowned and reached for his wallet, pulling out his ID and handing it over to the doorman. The doorman stared at it for a moment before consulting his mobile, pressing a few buttons, and nodding. 

“Last lift on the left, floor fifteen.”

“Right,” Harry said with a nod. “Um, thank you,” he offered quietly before walking past the automatic doors and towards the lifts. He schooled himself to not stare around like a fish out of water, and he spent the entire lift ride trying to even out his breathing. He didn’t even know what Niall _did,_ but he really hoped it wasn’t anything illegal or devious because, shit, the building was _really nice._ And that meant Niall was loaded and— Harry shook his head; it didn’t _matter._ Niall was _nice,_ and Harry had talked with him every single day that week, and he was more than a little smitten. By the time the lift stopped, Harry stumbled out and nearly fell into the door right in front of him, emblazoned with a gold 1501. He looked around, noticing it was the only door in the entire hallway, and he sucked in a deep breath before he knocked and waited.

And waited.

If Harry hadn’t been nervous before, he definitely would’ve been when it took almost five minutes before he even heard movement on the other side of the door. He raised his hand to knock again when the door swung open, a shirtless and half-asleep Niall leaning against the door. 

“I—Harry, _shit,_ come in, come in,” Niall said, opening the door wider and taking a step back. “I’m so sorry, I must’ve fallen asleep and—“ he shook his head and laughed. “I’m so sorry.”

“it’s alright,” Harry said with a small smile, eyes fixated on Niall’s bare chest and—okay, he could do this, he _could._ He sucked in a deep breath and refused to look at the thin trail of dark hair beneath his navel and the trackies slung low on his hips. And it was fine, it was perfectly _fine_ that Niall was shirtless and in trackies and clearly not wearing any pants. It was fine. Harry was _fine._

“Were you knocking long? I thought I told the doorman to call me when you were headed up, but I must’ve forgotten,” he mused.

“Yeah, this place is really, really nice,” Harry said wistfully glancing around the hallway, the hardwood floors leading over to an entire wall of windows overlooking London. “But, no, I wasn’t knocking long,” he added as an afterthought. “You can see everything. This is beautiful.”

Niall smiled. “I can give you a tour in a mo—just let me change real quick.”

“You don’t have to,” Harry blurted out, cheeks flushing when Niall looked at him with a grin and a quirked brow. “I mean, it’s your flat, yeah? You should be comfortable.”

Niall laughed, reaching out to brush his thumb across Harry’s cheek, over his blush. “Alright then. Ready for the tour?”

Harry nodded eagerly. “Please.”

“So polite,” Niall teased, tugging on one of Harry’s curls briefly before turning around and opening his arms. “So this is my flat.”

“That was a lovely tour, very informative. Thank you for that.”

Niall grinned, turning to walk towards the living area and nodding for Harry to follow. “This is where I spend a fair amount of my time, video games and movie nights and the like,” he explained, motioning towards the large living area with enough seating for a small army. Harry tried not to feel intimidated in the large space, but he couldn’t help it. Niall pointed towards a staircase towards their left. “That heads up to the loft, which is actually just my bedroom. You’ll see that eventually.”

Harry choked out a laugh. “Will I?” he asked, teasing to cover up the nerves.

Niall winked at him. “Eventually, if you’d like,” he added, reaching for Harry’s arm and leading him towards the living area to the kitchen that was approximately the size of the flat Harry shared with Zayn.

“Wow,” Harry breathed out, admiring the stainless steel appliances and granite countertop. “This is as big as the flat I share with my mate.”

“Yeah, s’a little ostentatious, innit?” Niall asked, leaning against the counter and shrugging.

Harry swallowed when the hem of Niall’s trackies fell a little, catching on the jut of his hip, and he forced himself to look away. “Yeah, but it’s nice for, you know, someone who doesn’t cook,” he told him with a grin.

Niall laughed, shrugging slightly. “Yeah, but it’s good for parties and whatnot.”

Harry pursed his lips as he walked around the island, fingertips tracing over the counter, and he turned to face Niall, resting his elbows on the countertop. “So what do you do?”

Niall turned to face Harry, eyes wide. “For….fun?”

“To be able to afford this place,” Harry said. “You know I’m a student and work in a bakery. So what do you do?”

“I… A little bit of everything,” Niall replied with a shrug. “I’m in the entertainment industry.”

“Are you a porn star?” Harry asked, green eyes narrowed. “Because if so, I’m clearly in the wrong field, because I don’t make enough.”

Niall burst out laughing, rubbing a hand over his face. “No, I’m not a porn star,” he said through his laughter, running a hand over his hair. “I work with musicians, sign artists and a lot of other really uninteresting things.”

“Sounds interesting to me,” Harry admitted. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven last month,” Niall told him. “Which makes me a Virgo. I don’t like long walks on the beach unless I’m in the Caribbean. I’ll eat anything except for beets. I would sleep all day if someone let me. And I really don’t like rabbits.”

Harry smiled, resting his chin on his hand. “Why don’t you like rabbits, Niall?”

Niall huffed. “I’d rather not get into that right now. I just don’t like them.”

“Or beets,” Harry said, shaking his head. “There goes my dinner plan.”

Niall rounded the island to stand next to Harry. “I think you’ll find I have plenty of ingredient options. I’m sure you’ll be able to wrangle up something without beets.”

“Maybe I really like beets. What would you do then?” Harry asked with a grin, teasing.

“I’d give ‘em another shot, I guess,” Niall said with a shrug.

Harry hadn’t been expecting that, and he looked down at his hands to try to regain composure. It had—It had been a really, _really_ long time since anyone had made him so nervous, so unsure of himself, and he wasn’t used to that. Niall was nine years older than him, he had a flat that was worth more than Harry would probably ever make in his life, and he was _interested_ in Harry. It was—It was _weird._ “Well, I’m not a fan of beets, so you don’t have to go that far.”

“Perfect. What’s on the menu?” Niall asked, reaching out to grab Harry’s hip as he walked by, swinging open the refrigerator and just staring. He normally had food in his refrigerator—he didn’t starve by any means—but he wasn’t used to so many…items that weren’t already meals in and of themselves. He frowned and tilted his head to the side. 

“Something wrong?” Harry asked with a little smile on his face.

“I don’t cook,” Niall reminded him, glancing over his shoulder to catch Harry’s eye. “I don’t know what half of this is.”

With a laugh, Harry snuck up behind Niall, barely resisting the urge to grab his hips and mold his chest to Niall’s back. “You didn’t go to the shops?”

“I asked my assistant to,” he said with a shrug.

“Of course you have an assistant,” Harry teased. “Do you like lasagna?”

“I like everything.”

“Except beets.”

Niall grinned. “Except beets,” he agreed. 

Harry surveyed the items in front of him for a moment or two before he took a step back, grabbing Niall’s hand and leading him away from the refrigerator. “Go have a seat, turn on the telly, and I’ll start cooking, yeah?”

“You don’t want any help?” Niall asked.

Harry shook his head. “That wasn’t the deal. The deal was that I would cook you dinner as thanks—not that I would cook and make you help me. That’s just silly, Niall.”

Niall laughed as Harry swatted at his bum, pointing over his shoulder towards the living room. “I’ll be waiting for you to impress me with your culinary skills.”

Harry rolled his eyes and hoped he wasn’t blushing as hard as he thought. “Yeah, yeah, prepared to be amazed.”

 

+

 

“That was incredible, Harry,” Niall said, slouching back against the couch after setting his plate on the coffee table.

Harry beamed, cheeks flushing just slightly. “Wasn’t anything special,” he said with a shrug.

Niall rolled his eyes, resting an arm behind his head, fixing Harry with a small smile. “It was incredible,” he repeated.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, eyes falling down Niall’s chest and to his lap where he could’ve sworn he saw the outline of Niall’s cock beneath his trackies, _hoped_ and _prayed_ it was and— He shook his head, forcing himself to _not go there,_ because _there_ had gotten him into trouble before. 

“So… About desert…”

Harry laughed, pulling his legs up onto the couch, thankful he had toed his boots off while making supper, and pulled his knees to his chest. “Maybe next time. I fear your refrigerator is empty,” he teased.

“That’s just a ploy to come back, innit?” Niall asked.

Harry shrugged, knew that his cheeks were flushed, but he tried to play coy anyway, knew that he was decent at it, thanks to Zayn telling him so. “You do have a very nice flat,” he commented, looking around again, taking in the pieces of art along the walls, the decorative mirrors, and a few framed records. “What are those from?”

Niall looked over his shoulder to where Harry was nodding, seeing his platinum albums, and he shrugged. “Just…dabbled in music a bit, when I was younger,” he said quietly. 

“Dabbled? People who dabble don’t go platinum, Niall,” Harry said, his voice dropping. “Anything I might know?”

“Maybe,” he said with another shrug. “I did put out my first album a decade ago.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Really? How many albums do you have?”

“A few,” Niall shrugged.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Now you’re just being humble. Sing me something! I might know it. I’m very into music,” he told him.

Niall laughed and didn’t feel that familiar sinking in the pit of his stomach that he normally got when something was bound to go wrong; he’d been around enough people who wanted anything to do with him for his music or money for far too long. He had started to catch onto the ploys and tricks, but he sincerely doubted that Harry was anything but genuine. Which was exactly why Niall said fuck it and sang a few bars from one of his later songs, but it was still one of his most popular, and he wasn’t surprised when Harry started nodding along with a big smile on his face. 

“That’s you?” Harry asked with a laugh, shaking his head as his cheeks flushed. “I can’t believe I had my first kiss to one of your songs.”

“Your first kiss was to Little Things?” Niall asked, rolling his eyes. “You’re a walking cliché, Harry.”

“I know,” Harry agreed with a bit of a whine. “I can’t help it. I thought it was the perfect moment.”

Niall watched as Harry tried to hide his face behind his hands and he reached over, grabbing his wrist and running his fingertips over the smooth skin. “I like you,” he said quietly once silence had washed over them.

Harry bit his lip, cheeks still flushed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Can I see you again?”

“Yeah,” Harry said with a nod. “Maybe I’ll even make desert next time.”

Niall laughed, pulling Harry’s hand towards his lips, pressing a kiss across his knuckles; it was a move that was horribly clichéd and would’ve been completely stupid if it was anyone else—but Niall knew he was charming, could get away with almost anything, and he was positive that was precisely why Harry did nothing more than roll his eyes. 

 

\+ 

 

Harry snuck back into his flat at half-one, cringing when the door shut unnecessarily loud behind him and the hall light flickered on. Harry stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide as Zayn glared at him.

“You’re home late.”

“Did I wake you?” he asked, choosing not to comment on the time because, hell, it wasn’t even _that_ late.

Zayn shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. “Did you have fun?”

Harry smiled, nodding quickly. “Yeah, he’s—“ he hesitated for a moment, struggling to find the right word.

“He’s…a pervert? A creep? Too old for you?”

“Amazing,” Harry supplied, kicking his boots off at the door and walking down the hallway towards Zayn. He wrapped his arms around his best mate’s waist, hugging him tightly. “He’s amazing,” he repeated.

Zayn slowly, reluctantly rubbed Harry’s back. “Harry—“

“Can we cuddle? I’ll tell you all about my night. I promise I’ll introduce you so you can see he isn’t a creep.”

Zayn didn’t have it in him to say no when Harry dragged him back into his room, pulling him under the covers and snuggling up against him. He didn’t have it in him to protest when Harry started listing all of Niall’s wonderful qualities, including, but not limited to, his smile and pretty blue eyes and laugh and accent and his talent and his voice and his amazing flat and his _smile._

“He’s wonderful, Zayn. I want you to meet him. Do you want to meet him?” Harry asked, peering up at Zayn from under his eyelashes. He couldn’t see the lad in the dark of the room, but he could imagine the look on his face—artfully disinterested but secretly invested. 

“Yeah, I’ll meet him, so I can warn him not to hurt you,” Zayn said.

Harry giggled. “Niall, he’s nearly ten years our senior. I think he could take you in a fight.”

“Nah, m’like that mother who lifted a car off her child—“

“That wasn’t a real story.”

“It _was,_ and that’s me. Running on pure adrenaline,” Zayn added with a nod.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Except I’m not your child.”

“Shut up, Harry,” Zayn muttered; he pulled the younger boy closer to his chest, shifting to get comfortable underneath the blanket. “I’ll kick his arse if he hurts you.”

“He won’t hurt me. We kissed to his song, remember? Our first kiss?”

Zayn chuckled a little bit, shaking his head. “It was awful. I hope you’re better now or I feel sorry for this Niall character.”

Harry pouted and pinched Zayn’s side. “Much better, no thanks to you. Give me a little bit of credit.”

Zayn smiled and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

Harry sputtered as Zayn nearly covered his face with the blanket, kicking at his shin before crawling a little further up to rest his head on the pillow rather than Zayn’s chest. “I’m seeing him Monday. We’re getting lunch.”

“I’ll kill him if he hurts you.”

Harry couldn’t even pretend like he didn’t enjoy Zayn’s protective streak; it was nice to have someone watch his back since his family lived a couple of hours away and, well, Gemma was intimidating but even she couldn’t intimidate from such a distance. Zayn was a suitable stand-in, even though Harry was nearly positive Niall didn’t have a mean bone in his body.

 

+

 

If Harry had been intimidated standing outside the building of Niall’s flat, that was nothing compared to how he felt standing out front of Niall’s office…label…studio… _whatever_ it was. He watched a few people leave, dressed in suits and nice dresses and the like, and he felt underdressed again in skinny jeans and a black button up. He felt his mobile vibrate in his pocket and he saw a message from Niall, telling him that he was on floor twenty-five and to the left. Harry didn’t reply, rather he just made his way into the building, clutching tightly to the little bag of baked goods that he had made for Niall that morning.

Since dinner Friday night, he and Niall had talked every day; Zayn still side-eyed Harry whenever he would giggle at a text or blush whenever Niall called him. But Harry didn’t blame him, could only understand where Zayn was coming from, and he wasn’t bothered. He wasn’t worried about Niall, he really wasn’t; normally he would’ve been searching for a flaw, searching for something that just seemed wrong, but he didn’t have the urge to self-sabotage with Niall around. And while he could’ve questioned it, he really didn’t _want_ to. 

He smiled at the woman behind the front desk as he made his way towards the lift, pressing the button for the twenty-fifth floor and waiting. A few people wandered in and out, here and there, and when the bell chimed for the twenty-fifth floor, Harry made his way out and into the lobby, hesitating when he saw another crystal chandelier above the front desk. The woman behind the desk was pretty, all blonde hair and blue eyes and a silver nose ring, who put a call on hold before making eye contact with Harry.

“Can I help ya, love?” she asked, lips as pink as her bubblegum. 

“Um, yes, I—I’m looking for Niall? Uh, sorry, I mean, Mr. Horan? Niall? I—“

The woman cut him off with a giggle, tapping a couple of buttons on her keyboard before nodding towards the left. “He’s in the office at the end of the hall, love.”

Harry smiled, breathing a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. He didn’t say you were so cute,” she added with a big grin. 

Harry felt his cheeks flush and he glanced at the floor, shrugging. “I—“

“Did you bring him sweets? That’s so cute. If he wasn’t half in love already, he would be now.”

“I—“ Harry stuttered for a moment. “I made them this morning,” he finished lamely. 

“That’s so cute,” she repeated, rolling her eyes when the phone rang again. “He’s waiting for you, love. Go on.”

Harry went to reply but the girl had already picked up the phone, talking to someone on the other end with a bored tone, and he looked down the hall. He shouldn’t have been so nervous, not really, but he couldn’t help but feel like a little kid playing at an adult as he walked down the hallway and towards Niall’s office. He knew Niall was in charge, was the boss, _whatever,_ and he almost felt like he had to impress everyone around him, and he wasn’t sure why. He made it all the way down the hall, glancing at the doors around him, unsure of which was Niall’s, when he felt someone walk up beside him, and he jumped. 

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” the man said with a sharp smile, turning to step in front of Harry. 

“S’alright,” Harry said quietly, looking over the man’s shoulder.

“Can I help you find someone, pretty?”

Harry blinked quickly, finally meeting the man’s blue eyes. “You think I’m pretty?” he asked with a soft smile. 

“Of course,” he said, reaching out to touch Harry’s arm. 

Harry smiled, jerking his arm out of his grip. “Please don’t touch me. I’m not interested.”

“I—“

“Harry!”

Harry turned away from the man, a huge smile taking over his face when he saw Niall walking down the hallway.

“Sorry, darling, I couldn’t get Simon off the phone,” he said with a grin. 

“I brought you these,” Harry said, holding out the bag.

Niall laughed and took the bag from Harry, opening it and breathing in. “You’re my favorite person in the world,” he announced, leaning in and brushing his lips across Harry’s cheek. “I just have to get something from my office then we’ll get a bite to eat, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” he agreed with a smile.

“C’mon, I’ll show you ‘round,” he said before turning to face his friend. “Y’alright, Lou?”

Louis paused, looking between Niall and Harry. “This—“ he said, pointing between the two of them, “—is just weird. _You’re_ Harry?”

Harry nodded, slipping his hand into Niall’s, surprised when the older man squeezed his hand. 

Louis pursed his lips, shaking his head. “Definitely not in your fifties and greying, then. That was my mistake.”

“It was,” Niall agreed. “Ya done? We have a lunch reservation.”

“Hmm,” Louis muttered thoughtfully before shrugging. “Off with you, Nialler, unless you’re going to invite me to lunch.”

“Never,” Niall said with a wink before dragging Harry down the hallway and towards his office, shutting the door behind him. “Sorry about Lou. He didn’t say anything too offensive, did he?”

“Just called me pretty,” Harry said with a shrug and a roll of his eyes. “Does he talk to everyone like that?”

“Only the pretty ones.”

Harry huffed out a laugh before looking around Niall’s spacious office, an entire wall made out of windows overlooking the city. “Do you refuse to work or live anywhere that doesn’t have an amazing view?” he mumbled.

Niall laughed. “Hardly—I’m not as spoiled as Lou. I just figure I should have something nice to look at if I’m doing anything boring,” he said, shrugging off his suit jacket. 

“I feel so underdressed,” Harry admitted, looking down at his outfit and then back over at Niall who was wearing a dark blue suit.

“Nah, don’t,” he told him with a wave of his hand, loosening his tie around his neck and tossing it aside. “You think I dress like this normally?” he asked.

“Was kind of hoping,” he replied with a smile.

Niall laughed as he unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it off and tossing it aside. “I keep a suit or two here in case if I have a meeting, but normally I just wear jeans,” he told him, pulling out a pile of clothes from the cabinet behind his desk. 

“Pity. I rather like the suits,” Harry told him.

Niall sent him an exaggerated wink as he pulled on a clean shirt, changing out of his trousers and into a pair of jeans and Converse quickly. “More than this?” he joked, pulling on a SnapBack and kicking his clothes back into the cabinet and shutting the door.

“Niall! They’ll wrinkle!” Harry chastised, walking over to the cabinet and opening the door, reaching for Niall’s clothes. “You have to hang them up. Were you raised in a barn?”

“In Ireland, so…kind of the same thing, according to Louis,” he said with a grin.

Harry frowned. “Louis obviously isn’t half as funny as he thinks he is,” he muttered, hanging up Niall’s suit and smoothing out a couple of the wrinkles. 

“He isn’t,” Niall agreed with a laugh. “Thank you for hanging up my clothes, Harry.”

Harry flushed. “You’re welcome.”

Niall grinned and leaned in, brushing their lips together quickly. “And thank you for bringing me sweets.”

“I—You’re welcome,” Harry stuttered. “They’re cinnamon and honey croissants with chocolate melted inside.”

“Don’t tell me that, Harry. I might accidentally ask you to marry me.”

Harry flushed.

Niall reached over for the bag of sweets and grabbed Harry’s hand with his other. “Ready for lunch? It’s that new steakhouse a couple of blocks away.”

“Niall, that place is really expensive—“

“Don’t worry about it,” Niall dismissed. “I was gonna run by the shops after. I have a couple of things to pick up for an event I have to go to Saturday. And I have to pick up new golf clubs. Do you want to go with me?”

“Sure, I—“

“Oh, do you want to go to the event on Saturday? It’s some club opening and this DJ I’ve been working with is gonna be spinning—it’s gonna be sick,” Niall told him.

“Club opening?”

Niall nodded. “Yeah. Do you golf?”

Harry shook his head.

“You should go with me and Cal. He’s the head of HR, great lad. Would you be interested?”

“I…don’t own any golf clubs—“

“Don’t worry about that,” Niall said, rolling his eyes when his mobile started ringing. He pulled it out of his pocket and hit ignore, turning to smile at Harry. “Ready for lunch?”

“I don’t want you to miss any calls because of me,” Harry said quietly.

“Nah, it wasn’t important anyway,” he assured him. “Hungry?”

Harry nodded quickly. “Of course.”

 

+

 

The next month felt like it flew by in a whirlwind of classes, exams, baking, and Niall. Harry almost didn’t have time to do anything, not really, when he was at the bakery all morning, class all afternoon, and then at Niall’s during the evening. It was hard to balance everything, but he was making it work. It still took some getting used to, being with Niall; they hadn’t exactly defined what they were, but Harry considered Niall his boyfriend, but was too shy to ask Niall if he felt the same. 

But it was _nice,_ really, just…being with Niall; Harry never felt like he had to try or be someone he wasn’t. And he had been worried at first, initially, when he realized just _who_ Niall was, but—it only took a week, if that, for him to get used to it. (Well, maybe a little longer since they had been caught by paparazzi leaving the club on a Saturday night and, well, Harry didn’t even know what to _think_ about that, had been worried and freaking out. But Niall had just pulled him close, kissed him in the lift on the way to his flat, and Harry wasn’t worried after that.)

And then Niall had been dragged away from Harry at about week three for some _crisis_ in New York that no one else could handle. But Harry knew he didn’t exactly have a right to complain or anything, knew Niall didn’t even have a choice considering they had been snogging in his office, door locked and curtains drawn, Niall’s hand inching up Harry’s thigh when the call came and— Well, Niall couldn’t blame Harry for being upset. He left in a hurry; calling his assistant to pack a bag and promising Harry he would make it up to him when he came back.

Which was how Harry found himself outside Niall’s flat, sweet-talking Robert, the doorman he met the first night he ever went to Niall’s, someone he had actually gotten rather close with, to let him into Niall’s flat. And Harry thanked ever deity there was that he was so charming, or that Robert was so kind, to let Harry into Niall’s flat where he was preparing his favorite cake for him. He knew Niall was going to get home that night, had gotten the email from Perrie, the cute little blonde from the front desk that instantly became one of Harry’s mates after about the fourth time he showed up to meet Niall at the office. 

Harry had just popped the cake into the oven, set the timer for twenty minutes, singing along to whatever song by The 1975 that was playing, probably something about cocaine or blowjobs or both, and he tried to clean up the mess that he had made. For someone who worked in a bakery on a daily basis, someone who was used to ingredients and measuring cups and spoons and pants and spatulas—Harry sure knew how to make a mess. His black shirt was covered in flour, a healthy dusting on his thighs and in his hair; he was almost positive he had some sugar or butter on his face and he wasn’t even sure _how,_ but he knew it was there. 

He put all of the dishes in the fancy dishwasher and Niall didn’t even know how to operate until Harry read the manual to him one night after supper, when they were sitting on the floor sipping wine because the table was too far away and Niall had eaten himself into another Harry-induced food coma. He was so preoccupied with cleaning and singing along to girls breaking hearts that he didn’t even notice Niall was back until he felt two arms wrap around his waist, and he didn’t even try to hide the giggle that slipped past his lips. 

“Niall—“

“Are you baking for me, Haz?” Niall asked quietly, his voice thick and rough with sleep, and Harry could only imagine how tired he was. 

Harry nodded, reaching down to rub his fingertips over Niall’s knuckles. “Wanted to surprise you,” he told him. 

“Consider me surprised,” Niall whispered against his neck, pressing his lips to Harry’s pulse before pausing and just breathing in. 

“How was your flight?”

“Awful,” he said with a small smile. “I’m much better now.”

Harry laughed, turning around in Niall’s arms and giving him an once-over. “You look exhausted.”

“I _am_ exhausted,” Niall admitted with a nod. “How long until the cake is done?”

“About twenty minutes,” Harry said. “You should get some rest.”

“Nah, I will when the cake is done so you can join me,” he said with a shrug. 

“You should go lie down,” he suggested.

Niall grinned. “Haz, I haven’t seen you in over a week, and I left at the worst possible time—“

“It’s alright,” Harry interrupted with a blush, looking down at his feet.

With a laugh, Niall ran the back of his knuckles across Harry’s jaw, tilting his head and pressing their lips together. Harry melted against him in an instant, fingers gripping at Niall’s belt in an attempt to steady himself. Niall pushed him back against the counter, sliding his hands over Harry’s thighs and back up to his waist, dipping under his shirt to press against his bare stomach. Harry whimpered, arching away from the counter, wanting to feel more of Niall against him. Niall slid his hands over the back of Harry’s thighs, barely ghosting across his bum before finding the hem of his joggers and pushing them down towards his knees. 

“Ni—“

“Ssh,” Niall whispered, sinking to his knees and pressing his lips against Harry’s stomach. He could feel Harry’s cock, could see it tenting the fabric of his pants, and he peeled those down his legs, too, watching as they bunched around Harry’s thighs. He could see Harry grip the edge of the counter, his knuckles going white, and Niall couldn’t help but bite at his little tummy, smiling against his skin when Harry whimpered again. 

“You don’t have to—“

“I know,” Niall said, wrapping his fingers around the base of Harry’s cock, tongue darting out to lick a stripe up the side. “I want to.”

“Ni— _Fuck_ ,” Harry gasped as he felt Niall’s lips wrap around him. He was almost positive he was going to pass out, was almost positive nothing had ever felt so brilliant and amazing and wow, okay, Niall was— _perfect._ Harry had gotten blowjobs before, yeah, obviously, but there was something different about the way Niall was sucking him off, from the pressure to the tongue to the way his hands were rubbing over Harry’s thighs, over his balls, pressing lightly against his hole in a way that had Harry spilling into his mouth with a shudder and a choked-off cry of Niall’s name. 

Niall pulled away with a grin, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, before standing up and threading his fingers through Harry’s flour-covered hair, pulling him in for a kiss. He kissed him slowly, thoroughly, until Harry was practically molded to his front, arms around his waist. And Niall pulled away right as the timer went off, indicating that the cake was done, and he didn’t miss the little whine that slipped past Harry’s lips. “Much better than me going straight to bed, yeah?”

Harry laughed, cheeks still a little flushed, and he nodded. “Much,” he agreed.

“Alright, alright, don’t let me cake burn,” Niall said, swatting at Harry’s bum.

“It’s your fault,” he told him with a cheeky grin, reaching down to pull up his pants and joggers. “Get in bed. I’ll be there in a mo.”

“Good, ‘cause I ‘aven’t slept next to you in a week and it’s been awful. Don’t forget to turn the oven off,” he reminded him.

Harry rolled his eyes, still grinning. “You wouldn’t even know the oven turned on if it wasn’t for me.”

“Irrelevant,” Niall said with a wink. “Hurry up and get your cute arse in here, yeah?”

 

+

 

“Don’t embarrass me, Zayn; I mean it,” Harry whispered as the two of them approached the restaurant where they were to be meeting Niall for supper. It had been three weeks since Niall had gotten back from his trip to the States and Harry had spent nearly every spare minute with him, thus neglecting his best mate—he wanted to make that up to him.

Zayn groaned and stopped outside of the restaurant, scuffing the thick sole of his combat boot across the sidewalk. “He’s already seen your prick, Harry—I can’t embarrass you anymore.”

Harry flushed and looked down at his feet. “My prick isn’t embarrassing.”

Zayn reached over and shoved Harry’s arm, nearly causing the uncoordinated boy to fall over, and he laughed. “Relax, Harry. I won’t embarrass you,” he assured him. “But this place? Really?”

“Yeah, he likes the steak here,” Harry told him with a shrug. 

“Probably because it costs more than our weekly rent,” he muttered.

Harry shrugged again, pulling the lapels of his threadbare coat tighter around his shoulders in the cool November air. “Let’s get in, yeah? S’freezing out here.”

“Maybe if you bought a better jacket—“

“You buy a better jacket,” Harry said with a cheeky grin, grabbing Zayn’s arm and pulling him towards the door. “C’mon, he’s waiting.”

Zayn let out an exaggerated sigh while letting Harry pull him into the restaurant and through the throngs of people in business suits. “We so don’t fit in here, Harry,” he mumbled, thinking of his own ripped jeans and shirt that was almost as old as he was and in far worse condition. 

Harry ignored him and approached the hostess with a bright smile. “Hi, we’re part of the Horan party? We have a reservation.”

“A reservation,” Zayn scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Harry elbowed him in the side, still smiling politely at the hostess.

“This way, gentleman; Mr. Horan is already here,” she informed them before leading the two of them towards the back of the restaurant. 

Harry’s smile widened the minute he found Niall, and not only because he hadn’t seen him in two days as he promised Zayn they would spend some Quality Time together. He noticed the instant Niall looked up and met his eyes, that same goofy, crinkly smile taking over his face, and Harry recognized the man sitting next to him as his mate, Liam; he had met him a time or two whenever he stopped by the office. He went to take a step forward when he was jerked back, looking down to see Zayn’s hand on his arm. “Wha—“

“Who is _that_?” Zayn asked quietly, nodding towards the table.

“That’s…Niall?” he offered, confused.

Zayn rolled his eyes. “Not him; I know what your bloody boyfriend looks like because you send me about fifteen selfies every time you’re with him. I’m talking about the _other_ one. The one that looks like a bloody underwear model.”

Harry paused for a minute before grinning and shaking Zayn’s shoulder. “You think Liam looks like a model? Oh, he would be so embarrassed. I have to—“

Zayn jerked Harry back again, narrowing his eyes. “Do _not_ embarrass me in front of him.”

“Zayn, I would never,” Harry said with a wide grin, reaching over and ruffling Zayn’s hair. “C’mon, it’s rude to keep our men waiting,” he teased.

“I hate you.”

Harry ignored him and walked over to Niall, instantly burying his face against the side of his neck; he could feel Niall’s arms around his waist and it felt like _home._ “Hi, sorry we’re late,” he mumbled as he reluctantly pulled away. He didn’t like to linger in public, and it wasn’t for any other reason than if he didn’t pull himself away quickly, he never would. Niall had made it obvious on numerous occasions that he didn’t give two shits about public displays of affection, but Harry wanted to be careful, just in case.

“Ridiculous,” Niall brushed off with a grin, “you’re never late. It gave Leemo and I time to finish something up anyway.”

“Hi, Liam,” Harry greeted.

“Harry,” Liam nodded with a crinkly-eyed smile. “I should really…get…” he trailed off, eyes glancing over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry turned and grabbed Zayn’s arm, pulling the quiet boy over to the table. “This is my best mate, Zayn. Zayn, this is Niall and his friend, Liam.”

Zayn waved shyly before stuffing his hands back into his pockets. 

Harry grinned as he watched Liam awkwardly lean forward to shake Zayn’s hand, and he leaned against Niall’s side briefly, nuzzling the side of his neck again, unable to be within two feet of the boy without touching him. “I missed you,” he whispered.

Niall smiled, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist and pressing his lips against his temple. He could feel people in the restaurant watching him, and he just didn’t _care._ He had spent too much time trying to keep his relationships private and all he wanted to do was show Harry off, make sure everyone knew they were together, that he was with such an amazing boy, it was…it was different. “Coming back to mine after?”

Harry nodded eagerly, his curls bouncing as he pressed his fingers against Niall’s side. 

“Good,” Niall said, leading Harry to his chair and slipping the black hoodie from his shoulders. “Where’s your jacket?”

“This is my jacket,” Harry said quietly.

“You must be freezing, babe.”

“He is,” Zayn interjected, sending his best mate a small smile. “Wouldn’t stop complaining when we were outside.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at Zayn. “Was that before or after you said Liam looked like a—“

Zayn’s eyes widened and he punched Harry’s arm, causing the younger boy to wince.

“Hey,” Harry drew out pathetically slow.

“Sorry, my arm slipped,” Zayn muttered sarcastically.

Niall laughed, rubbing his hand over Harry’s arm. “Li, you gonna join us?”

Liam glanced over at Zayn, cheeks flushed a light pink, and he nodded. “Yeah, I think I will.”

 

+

 

(It was two days later when Harry had his notebooks for class sprawled all across the expensive hardwood floor of Niall’s flat, his curls tied haphazardly back in a little bun, as he tried to study—which was rather difficult because he was more focused on the backdrop of the London night sky because, hell, he loved Niall’s flat more than anything—when Niall surprised him with it. It was wrapped in a white box and a black bow, Niall nudging it across the floor with his foot as he opened up a beer, motioning for Harry to open it when the younger boy stared up at him with wide eyes. 

Harry’s hands shook as he opened the box, pulling out the emerald suede jacket, holding it to his chest as if it were the most precious thing he owned. “Niall, I—“

“D’ya like it?” Niall asked, sitting down on the couch and crossing one ankle over his knee.

“This—This must’ve been so expensive, Niall—“

“Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted with a shrug. 

“But—“

“S’not like I’m hurting for money, Harry,” he repeated with another shrug.

Harry stared at the jacket for a minute, fingertips tracing over the _Burberry_ label and down the lapels, and he couldn’t believe that something so gorgeous was in his hands. “I just—“

Niall leaned down, reaching out to rub Harry’s shoulder, stroking the fine little curls at the base of his neck with a fond smile. “You needed a new jacket. I saw this and thought of you,” he shrugged. “Do you like it?”

Harry nodded, smiling. “It’s gorgeous,” he breathed out, running his fingertips over the fabric again. “Thank you. How can I thank you? This is too much—“

“It’s _not,_ ” Niall insisted with a laugh. “You’re my boyfriend. I’m allowed to spoil you.”

“Boyfriend?” Harry asked, still smiling.

Niall shrugged. 

“You wanna be my boyfriend?” he teased.

Niall rolled his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“You’re dating an idiot. You have an idiot for a boyfriend,” Harry said practically beaming up at him. 

“Yeah, m’alright with that,” Niall told him with a fond smile. 

Harry gently set the jacket aside, safe within the tissue paper and inside the original box, before crawling over to where Niall was sitting on the couch. He reached for his boyfriend’s cheeks, pulling him in for a slow kiss, running his hands into his hair. He could feel Niall smile against his lips as he pulled away with a giggle. “Thank you,” he told him again.

Niall ran his knuckles down the side of Harry’s cheek. “You deserve to be spoiled, Harry.”

“So do you,” Harry insisted.

“You don’t have to—“

Harry rolled his eyes, cutting him off by reaching for the zip of his trousers. “Not with material possessions, Niall, don’t be so greedy,” he teased. 

“Just with blowjobs, then?” 

Harry laughed, nodding. “Yes. Now c’mon, get your prick out, I wanna blow you.”

Niall shook his head, laughing as Harry tugged his trousers down over his hips. “You’re ridiculous.”

Harry just beamed up at him before nodding again.)

(But, really, it was the best thank you that Niall could’ve gotten.)

 

+

 

Harry wore the jacket _everywhere._ He couldn’t count the number of times he had been complimented on it, and he couldn’t explain how good it made him feel. And it wasn’t just because it was beautiful or expensive, it was because _Niall_ had gotten it for him, his _boyfriend._ And he couldn’t explain exactly why it boosted his confidence, it just _did._ Though, honestly, it probably had something to do with the fact that he could call Niall his _boyfriend._

But it caused a _change_ in Harry, one that was barely noticeable at first, but then he couldn’t deny. He had dated before, been with people who had made him happy, but Niall was completely _different._ It hadn’t even been two months and Harry was completely infatuated, besotted, smitten, _whatever_ with Niall, and that same infatuation bled into every aspect of his life. 

(“You seem so…happy,” Zayn commented one evening when Harry was finished with supper, serving him a plate on the couch before sitting down next to him. “It’s weird.”

Harry giggled, shrugging as he watched Zayn try his food for the first time, a new dish he had tried. “Do you like it?”

Zayn nodded emphatically, reaching for his glass of wine. “You should thank Niall for me.”

“For?” Harry asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. 

Zayn shrugged, taking another bite of the pasta and chicken dish that he swore, _swore_ was the most amazing thing he had ever tried. “Making you happy.”

Harry felt his cheeks flush and ignored it, settling for a shrug instead. “He’s a good person.”)

Harry surprised him the week before his exams, bringing him a home cooked lunch to the office in little Tupperware containers, a chilled bottle (or two) of Guinness hidden beneath the containers, even though he was sure no one would care if Niall had a beer during lunch on a Friday. He snuck through the cubicles and down the corridor, waving to Liam who was chatting with Sophia, his pretty assistant that Zayn insisted he was _not_ jealous of or worried about in the slightest, before knocking briefly on Niall’s door and walking in. 

He knew Niall wasn’t in a meeting thanks to the little wink and smile Perrie sent him when he got out of the lift, so he wasn’t too worried. He smiled at Niall when he walked in, seeing Niall twirling the telephone cord around his hand and wrist as he rolled his eyes, mouthing a _this is boring shite_ to Harry. Harry giggled as he walked towards the couch on the other side of the office; he shrugged off the jacket Niall had gotten him before leaning over and unpacking the lunch he had brought. He heard Niall clear his throat and he sent him an exaggerated sultry look over his shoulder, causing the Irishman to roll his eyes again. Harry picked up one of the bottles of Guinness and walked back over to Niall, setting it down on the desk before climbing onto Niall’s lap. 

Niall sputtered a little bit, recovering quickly as he batted Harry’s hand away from where he was trying to unbutton the checkered shirt Niall had donned earlier that morning. 

Harry pouted and gave up, leaning in to press his lips against the side of Niall’s neck. He could feel Niall’s fingers dig into his thigh and barely registered the sound of Niall saying goodbye and hanging up the phone until—

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Niall asked, his voice a little raspier than Harry was used to, just the way he liked it.

Harry shrugged. “New jeans,” he said easily.

“Did ya’ steal ‘em from your sister? Christ, how did you even get these on?” he asked, more than a little amazed that Harry could _walk_ in them with how tight they were, let alone get them on at all. He vaguely wondered how difficult it would be to peal the fabric down his thighs, get them bunched around his knees, giving him no room to move, but he was at _work,_ and Harry was a _menace._

“Gemma’s got lovely taste,” Harry insisted. “But, no, I took them from Zayn. He hadn’t worn them in ages and I rather liked them.”

“You look ridiculous,” Niall told him.

Harry pouted. “I think you like them.”

“I think I like the way they make your arse look,” he corrected.

“I’m alright with that,” Harry said, standing up from Niall’s lap and reaching for his hands. “C’mon, I brought you lunch.”

Niall batted Harry’s hands away again and stood up, pushing Harry back against the edge of his desk. “Not hungry,” he told him, leaning in and crushing their lips together. 

Harry whimpered against Niall’s lips, arms instantly winding around his neck. “But—“

“Not hungry,” Niall repeated, moving his lips down the side of Harry’s neck as his hands found the back of his thighs, lifting him up until he was sitting on the edge of the desk. He nosed the collar of Harry’s button up aside, biting at his collarbone as he felt Harry’s thighs tremble beneath his hands. 

“Think you might be, just a little,” Harry panted as Niall’s hand wandered across the front of his skin-tight jeans, palming at his cock. 

Niall grinned, pulling back for a moment and taking in Harry’s wide eyes and flushed cheeks, and he was _gone_ for the lad. “Did you lock the door when you came in?”

“No.”

Niall shrugged. “Doesn’t matter.”

Harry giggled, kissing Niall quickly before standing from the desk, causing Niall to groan. “C’mon, you gotta eat first—“

“I’d rather eat—“

“After,” Harry told him with a smile. “You gotta eat your vegetables first. And then we can lock the door.”

Niall pursed his lips for a minute before shrugging. “Alright, mum.”

“ _Don’t_ call me mum.”

“Well, I’m not calling you daddy,” Niall said with a laugh, walking over to the couch and sitting down, patting the cushion next to him.

Harry grinned, sitting down next to Niall and pressing his lips to his cheek. “Good, because I’m pretty sure I should be the one calling _you_ that.”

 

+

 

Harry had been under the impression that, since Niall owned the company, he could take off whatever days he wanted, including near the holiday. Harry had planned to go back home for a week to see his family over Christmas, so he wanted to spend as much time with Niall as possible. Which didn't really work out considering how busy his boyfriend was—Harry had no idea how much Niall actually _did_ until Niall tried to take a day off to spend with Harry at his flat and kept getting calls.

(It was annoying.)

"What day are you heading back home?" Niall asked, barely glancing up from his iPad.

"The twentieth," Harry told him, carrying two steaming mugs of hot chocolate overfilled with mini marshmallows (Niall's with just a _little_ bit of rum) over towards the couch. He sat down on the floor, resting his head against Niall's knee. "My train leaves at half ten."

Niall scoffed. "Please, I'm not letting you take the train. You can take my car; I'll have Paul drive you."

"Niall—"

"The roads are gonna be a mess, darling. And you'll get there much quicker with Paul. Your mum would never forgive me if something happened to you," Niall said, ruffling Harry's curls.

Harry rolled his eyes but he actually _loved_ how Niall did what he could to take care of him. He looked up at Niall from under his lashes, watched the way he took a small sip of hot chocolate before setting it aside and fiddling with his iPad. Harry wrapped his fingers around Niall's calf, hugging his leg to his chest.

"What're you doing?"

"Pay attention to me," Harry pouted, his bottom lip sticking out.

Niall grinned, shaking his head slowly. "Lemme finish this email first, okay?"

Harry frowned, tugging at Niall's leg. "Niall," he whined, resting his chin on his knee. "You've been emailing all day."

"I'm a busy man, Haz," Niall said with a laugh.

"I know," he replied, still pouting, and he lifted himself to his knees and reached for Niall's iPad setting it aside. "Finish the email later."

Niall paused for a moment, settling back against the couch as if he was thinking it over. "I _should_ do the adult thing and finish my email first..." he trailed off.

"Instead, you're going to do the good boyfriend thing and fuck me on the couch, right?"

"Well, I'm nothing if not a good boyfriend," Niall said, wiggling his eyebrows as Harry stumbled onto the couch, straddling Niall's lap.

"The best boyfriend," Harry insisted between placing messy kisses across Niall's jaw until he found his lips. "My favorite boyfriend."

Niall smiled, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist and pulling him closer. Harry tried to fold his long limbs around Niall's body and failed, falling onto his back on the couch with a pronounced pout. Niall crawled between his legs with a laugh, pressing their lips together. Harry arched up against him without hesitating, hands finding the button and zip of Niall's jeans easily, pushing the fabric over his hips, getting his hand around Niall's cock when he heard the familiar ring tone from the other end of the couch.

"Niall—"

"Sorry, darling," Niall groaned, sitting back on his haunches and reaching for his mobile. A curse slipped past his lips and he sighed. "I have to take this, Harry," he muttered apologetically.

Harry sighed and nodded, waving his hand, unable to say anything else. It wasn't like he could make Niall ignore the call, and he knew it was important; he was just whining because he wasn't exactly a fan of not being able to get off with his boyfriend.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, pressing his lips to Harry's quickly before answering his mobile.

Harry pouted as he watched Niall slip back into business mode, talking numbers and trajectories for albums and producers and the like. Harry didn't know _what_ he was talking about, didn't really _care,_ he just liked listening to Niall talk. Which is why it took less than five minutes before Harry was reaching for the button of his jeans, undoing it and grabbing his dick, barely biting back a moan when he heard the hitch in Niall's breath.

Niall reached over and slapped at Harry's hand, his blue eyes wide, but he didn't miss a beat in whatever sales pitch he was throwing to whoever was on the phone with him.

Harry pouted and stopped for a moment, watching the flush slowly recede from his cheeks, and he sighed.

Niall was in the middle of something about sales or _something_ when he felt Harry shift beside him. He only had a second to prepare before Harry was sprawled across his lap again, mouthing at the side of his neck and grinding his hips down. Niall bit his lip, barely holding back a curse as Harry moved against him. He pulled the phone away from his face, hitting mute, before staring up at Harry with wide eyes. "What are you doing?"

"I don't like when you ignore me," Harry told him.

Niall shook his head, but he couldn't hide his smile. "Ya best keep it down then, yeah? Can't let these people know what you're up to," he told him, nodding towards his phone.

Harry grinned before nodding, his curls falling into his face, and he rocked their hips together again.

Niall took the call off of mute and pressed it to his right ear, cradling it against his shoulder, and he lifted his left hand with a smile. He watched Harry's eyes widen and dart between Niall's hand and his eyes; Niall nodded, smiling just a little, challenging.

Harry licked his lips, eyes falling back to Niall's hand as he reached for his wrist, sliding his tongue around and between his fingers. Niall bit his lip, forcing himself to pay attention to the phone call and reply when necessary, even though it was becoming increasingly more difficult with the little choked off noises Harry was making as he sucked at Niall's fingers.

Niall pulled his hand away slowly, ignoring Harry's pout, and he pulled the phone away from his ear. "Off," he whispered, pointing towards Harry's jeans.

Harry nodded and scrambled out of his jeans as best as he could, shoving them down around his thighs.

Niall looked away from Harry long enough to respond to whoever he was on the phone with, and he slid his hand around Harry's waist, pinching at his hip before sliding over his arse. He slid his fingertips across Harry's hole, rubbing against him, and Harry hissed. Niall frowned and pulled back, slapping at Harry's arse, only it backfired as Harry let out a sharp gasp, his head falling back as he rocked his hips down, desperate for more friction. "Sorry, lads, I—I stubbed my toe in me kitchen like an idiot. Sorry, you were saying?" he lied, sending Harry a less-than upset glare.

"Niall," Harry whined quietly, rocking their hips together.

Niall ignored Harry for a moment before reaching for his arse again, not even hesitating before sliding one finger into him. He tried not to let himself get distracted by the long line of Harry's back arching, his thighs quivering above him, but Harry was just _so pretty_ that Niall couldn't help himself.

Harry pouted as Niall focused on his call again, asking something about producers and availability and a spring album; he reached behind himself for Niall's wrist, trying to get _more_ and was rewarded when Niall slid a second finger into him, pressing against his prostate in a slow drag. Harry shivered, a raspy "yes, fuck," slipping from his lips.

Niall grinned in spite of himself, settling back comfortably against the couch as he watched Harry ride his fingers. Harry looked at him with wide eyes and Niall just nodded, wanted him to keep going, and he was surprised when Harry reached for him, lining up both of their hard cocks and closing his long fingers around them. Niall's eyes fluttered shut briefly and he cleared his throat.

Harry tried to hold back his little whimpers and failed as he pushed back against Niall's fingers before thrusting forward into his fist, reveling in the slow drag, the buildup in the pit of his stomach. "Niall," he whispered, burying his face in the side of Niall's neck in a poor attempt to hide his moans; he had never had to try to silence himself before, well—except for that one time in Niall's office when he was on some call with Louis but...Harry didn't think that counted.

Niall knew Harry was close, could tell by the way his fist around their cocks got a little jerky, a little messy, and he prodded at Harry's hole with the tip of a third finger, not at all surprised when Harry came with a beautiful arch to his back and a pathetic whimper muffled against Niall's neck.

Harry didn't hesitate for a second before letting go of his cock and focusing on Niall's, his spunk making the slow drag of his hand feel even more brilliant. He pulled away from Niall's neck to watch his face, the way his cheeks flushed and his head fell back against the couch, and Harry smiled, wondered if he could get Niall to come while he was still on the phone. (He was pretty sure he could.)

"Yeah, that's—that sounds good," Niall managed to get out as Harry slid the pad of his thumb over the head of Niall's cock. "How about I ask Louis and Liam and— _shit,_ sorry—and get back to you tomorrow? Perfect. Have a good night lads," Niall said, self-restraint in check until he hung up and tossed his mobile aside. " _Fuck,_ Harry, ya menace," he grunted.

Harry giggled softly, speeding up the movement of his hand before leaning in to kiss Niall, licking into his mouth. He could feel Niall's hands on his hips, tight and bruising, and he felt Niall's body clench as he came, spilling over Harry's fist with a quiet moan and flushed cheeks.

"You're gon' be the death of me," Niall panted out with a fond smile.

Harry shrugged one shoulder, pulling his shirt off and wiping at his hand and stomach before tossing it aside. "Sorry," he told him with a complete lack of sincerity.

Niall laughed, wrapping an arm around Harry's neck and pulling him in for a kiss. "Next time, I'll ignore the call, yeah?"

"Instead of me? Good idea," Harry said with a smile, curling up against his chest.

Niall ran his fingers through Harry’s curls as the younger boy curled around him, petting at his hair until he could feel him relax even more.

“Hey, NI?”

“If you’re—If—“ Harry sighed and trailed off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

“S’alright, Haz; what is it?” he asked, scratching at his scalp.

Harry nuzzled the side of Niall’s neck, almost purring underneath his touch. “Was just thinking that if you aren’t, you know, busy or anything, like…maybe you could come home with me? For the holiday?”

Niall smiled slowly, knowing how nervous Harry was just asking him that; he wasn’t sure if it was because of their age difference or just a difference in personality but Harry had always been a little bit more shy, a little more reserved when it came to asking Niall to do anything for him, almost as if he was embarrassed. “You want me to meet your family?”

Harry shrugged. “Only if you aren’t busy and if, you know, you _want_ to. No pressure,” he added quickly. “Don’t feel like you have to, yeah?”

“I’d love to.”

Slowly, Harry pulled away and looked up at Niall with wide eyes and pouty lips. “Are you sure?”

Niall nodded, pressing his lips to Harry’s cheek. “Of course I’m sure. Mums always love me.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Well, my mum loves everyone.”

“Way to make me feel special,” he joked, ruffling Harry’s curls.

“You’re special to me,” Harry promised as he curled back around Niall, nuzzling the side of his neck with a contented sigh. 

 

+

 

(Harry’s mum _loved_ Niall, not that anyone was actually surprised. Niall was charming and lovable, arriving with Anne’s favorite wine, Robin’s favorite Scotch, and Gemma’s favorite perfume and a scarf from the spring Yves Saint Laurent line that hadn’t been released yet. He was gracious and humble, thanking Harry’s family multiple times over for letting him stay for the holidays, even thanking them for raising someone as wonderful as Harry.)

(Christmas was basically perfect, especially when Harry gave Niall a book of Recipes for Dummies, which caused his boyfriend to laugh until he was nearly crying, wiping at his eyes before handing Harry a box that he clearly did not wrap. They had agreed to one gift each—Harry had insisted, actually, since he knew Niall would’ve gotten him a lot more and, as much as he loved being spoiled by Niall, he didn’t want to open up fifty gifts in front of them on Christmas morning, so— _one_ gift. What Harry _hadn’t_ taken into account was price range, which was why he was so surprised to see that Niall had gotten him an Alexander McQueen scarf worth over nine hundred pounds—he checked online—to replace the ratty one he had taken to wearing during exams to keep his hair out of his face.)

(Seriously—nine hundred pounds.)

(Harry Styles was so in love.)

 

+

 

Niall invited Harry to the label’s big New Year’s Eve party, obviously, the one that took place at the fanciest hotel in the city, the one that all of the hippest celebrities went to, the one that Harry had dreamed about going to for most of his life. And Niall was running _late._ He had promised Harry that he would pick him up at ten, then had to text him and tell him to go ahead and meet him in at the hotel, that his name was on the list and he would be able to get in. 

But—it didn’t change the fact that Niall was _late._ He never ran late, especially when he had plans with Harry, and he found himself changing in the back of his car as Paul weaved through traffic at eleven-thirty on New Year’s Eve trying to get to the hotel. He had hoped that by booking one of the nicest suites in the hotel for the night that Harry wouldn’t be upset with him. By the time he got to the hotel and got out of the car, smoothing down the back of his jeans, it was almost quarter to midnight. 

He waved at the bouncer, not needing to show any identification to get in, and he immediately started searching for Harry. The bass was thumping and he pushed his way through the bodies dancing towards the bar where he saw Louis standing with a beer in his hand and a bored expression on his face.

“Lou, ‘ave you seen Harry?” Niall asked, leaning in towards his ear so his mate could hear him.

“He was with Grimshaw, last I checked,” Louis told him with a roll of his eyes. “Have you seen Eleanor? I think she’s avoiding me.”

“Good, she’s an expensive sexual harassment lawsuit waiting to happen if you don’t leave her alone,” Niall joked. “Where’s Grimshaw?”

Louis pointed to the other side of the bar before taking a drink of his beer. “Party’s boring this year. You just get here?”

“Call ran late,” Niall said with a shrug.

“Can’t take one day off, can ya?”

“Tomorrow. I’m not leaving my hotel suite until I have to,” Niall said with a grin and a waggle of his eyebrows.

“Go to your boy, it’s almost midnight.”

Niall laughed and clapped Louis on the shoulder, wishing him a happy new year before rounding the bar. He found Harry easily, not just because of his curls or his smile or any of his other distinguishing factors, but because of his _shirt,_ pale blue and unbuttoned all of the way to his belly button, ink peeping out with every wild movement of his arms. Niall walked over to him and wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist, surprising him and nearly causing the younger boy to fall over.

“Niall! You’re here!” Harry giggled, turning around in Niall’s arms and hugging him tightly. 

“I’m so sorry, darling—“

“Don’t be sorry!” Harry insisted, eyes bright and pupils dilated, and he shoved his drink towards Nick. “I don’t want this anymore.”

“I don’t think you should have anymore anyway,” Nick said, setting the drink on the bartop. “Niall, how are you?”

“Good, Grim,” Niall said with a nod. “Thanks for keeping my boy company.”

Nick shrugged. “Didn’t believe he was with you at first. I didn’t think you had such good taste.”

Niall laughed, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist. “Yeah, m’pretty lucky.”

Harry giggled, burying his face against Niall’s neck. “Smell good, look good,” he slurred against his skin.

“Me? Look at you,” Niall said quietly, pressing his lips to the soft skin beneath Harry’s ear. “Showin’ up to the party with your shirt halfway undone—“

“’Cause I knew you were gonna be here,” Harry interrupted with a smile, slipping his hands under Niall’s leather jacket to link at the small of his back. “Can we go? We should go.”

Niall grinned at how eager Harry was, shaking his head slowly. “I just got here. It’s almost midnight.”

“Don’t care—just wanna be with you,” Harry insisted, leaning forward to press his lips to Niall’s quickly.

Niall glanced around briefly, making eye contact with Louis from across the bar, before grabbing Harry’s hand. “Come with me.”

Harry didn’t even blink as he allowed Niall to drag him through the hotel, between the bodies of people dancing and drinking until they found the bathroom. Harry nearly tripped over his feet excitement, giggling when Niall shoved him up against the door and kissed him senseless. If they had been paying attention, they would’ve heard the crowd go quiet for a moment before the countdown started; they would’ve heard the _five-four-three-two-one_ and the cheering. But all they heard was the sound of each other breathing, and all they saw were smiles as they laughed when Harry tripped and sent them both falling to the floor of the five-star bathroom. 

“I love you,” Harry whispered through his laughter as Niall tried to sit up from where he was sprawled between Harry’s legs.

Niall froze for a moment, mouth dropping open as if he were about to say something, but nothing came out.

“I’m drunk,” Harry added with a laugh, “but I love you.”

“I—“ Niall cut himself off with a wide grin, falling down onto his elbows in a rush to press his lips against Harry’s, licking into his mouth as he felt Harry’s thighs lock their bodies together. “I love you, too,” he told him, sounding more like a promise than he realized, and he was blown away by the look of pure adoration on Harry’s face, behind his pretty green eyes and pretty smile. 

Harry sat up slowly, kissing Niall quickly, sliding his fingers into his hair. “Can we go?” he asked, repeating the sentiment from earlier.

Niall nodded. “I got us a suite upstairs,” he told him with a shrug.

“I love you.”

Niall laughed as he stood up, reaching for Harry’s hands and pulling him up easily. 

“I’m never gonna stop saying it,” Harry told him quietly, suddenly feeling a little shy because now that he _had_ said it, he didn’t know how to _stop._

“Good,” Niall decided, “I’m never gonna want to not hear it.”

 

+

 

Niall and Harry didn’t leave their hotel suite for almost a week. Niall texted Jade the next morning and told her that he was taking the week off and that she should enjoy a week off (with pay) as well, then he made a call to the hotel manager and made sure he could keep the suite for a week. It took a lot of negotiating and paying almost double but Harry was worth it. 

And Niall wanted to surprise Harry, always wanted to surprise him with some sort of small gesture, especially after their confession in the loo on New Years. And that was precisely why Niall woke Harry up three hours before they had to check out with a gentle kiss, ruffling his curls.

“Rise’n shine, sunshine,” Niall whispered against his ear, smiling when Harry snuffled and tried to pull the blankets over his head. 

“Don’t wanna g’up,” Harry mumbled, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to pull the blankets up again.

Niall grinned. “C’mon, lazybones, I got a surprise for ya,” he told him, nudging his shoulder.

Harry opened one of his eyes. “Is it your dick?”

With a laugh, Niall stood from the bed and held his hand out to Harry. “Of course.”

“Good,” Harry grumbled, shoving the blanket off and shivering. “M’cold—“

“That’s what you get for sleeping naked—“

“Why put on clothes when we’re just going to end up naked when we wake up? I’ve had more sex this week than I have in my entire life,” Harry told him, reaching for his hand and allowing Niall to pull him out of bed.

“Is that a complaint?” Niall asked, pulling Harry in for a kiss.

Harry shook his head, giggling when Niall reached around to slap at his bum. “Never.”

“Good,” he said, leaning in to kiss him again, kneading at the soft flesh of his bum at the same time, walking them backwards and towards the bathroom. 

“Did you really wake me up just because of your dick?” Harry asked against Niall’s lips with a smile.

Niall laughed, kicking his foot behind him to open the bathroom door. “Of course not,” he told him. “I just thought we could have a relaxing morning—“

“We could’ve had a relaxing morning in bed,” Harry grumbled. “Would’ve ridden you until you were so relaxed, you couldn’t see straight.”

Niall could feel his heart speed up in his chest, his cock twitching in his pants, and he reached down to adjust himself. “You can also ride me in the Jacuzzi, yeah?”

Harry stilled for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, I—I can do that.”

“Good,” Niall decided, pulling Harry into the bathroom and shutting the door behind them.

“Niall—“

“Like it?”

Harry hesitated as he looked around the bathroom, his jaw dropping. Niall had lined the edge of the Jacuzzi and the counter with little tea light candles and he had The Eagles playing from the iHome between the sinks. The Jacuzzi smelled amazing, and Harry suspected there was some sort of foam or bath bomb to blame. And it wasn’t the cliché sort of romantic that Harry thought he wanted, but it was the Niall Sort of Romantic because it was everything Harry loved. He couldn’t help but feel a little overwhelmed at the fact that Niall did all of that for _him._ Niall usually preferred to buy him something ridiculously fancy or expensive rather than a romantic gesture, so Harry was at a loss for words. 

“Haz?”

“It’s perfect,” Harry whispered, turning to Niall and wrapping his arms around his waist, hugging him tightly. “It’s perfect.”

Niall ran his fingers through Harry’s curls as he pulled away, shrugging. “S’not much—“

“Doesn’t have to be,” Harry interrupted. “I love it.”

“Good,” Niall said with a little puff of laugh. 

“Now, I believe I said something about riding you,” Harry said with a grin and a wicked gleam in his eyes. He tugged Niall forward, digging his fingers into the waistband of Niall’s pants and slipping them over his hips. 

Niall stepped out of his pants and into the Jacuzzi, reaching for Harry’s arm when his boyfriend went to follow, well aware of how clumsy he was. Once Niall was steady on his feet, Harry stepped into the tub and nearly slipped, would’ve fallen if it wasn’t for Niall’s arms around his waist, and he sent water sloshing over the side of the tub, dousing some of the candles.

Harry pouted. “No,” he whined, “I ruined it.”

“Ya didn’t ruin anything, darling,” Niall promised, kissing the underside of Harry’s jaw before sinking down into one of the molded chairs of the tub, pulling Harry onto his lap.

Harry was still pouting as he straddled Niall’s hips, grinding down just a little bit against him. “I ruined the _mood_ you set, Niall,” Harry insisted with a frown. “I’m the worst boyfriend ever.”

Niall rolled his eyes. “You didn’t _ruin the mood,_ Haz,” he said quietly, running his hands over Harry’s back, over his bum, and across his thighs. “But,” he started with a grin, moving his hands back around to Harry’s bum, ghosting over his hole, “if you want to make it up to me—“

“Of course,” Harry said with a small smile, rocking his hips backwards, trying to create more friction. “C’mon, m’still open from last night.”

Niall bit back a groan at the _thought_ from the night before, when Harry’s body was so soft and pliant beneath his, taking his time to work his boy open with his fingers and tongue until he was crying out, his thighs quivering as Niall fucked him through his third orgasm. Niall bit at his lip as he slipped two fingers inside of Harry easily, nudging against his prostate.

Harry shuddered, trying to spread his thighs just a little bit more, rocking back against him. “Fuck, s’good,” he whispered when Niall nudged in a third finger just to see the way Harry squeezed his eyes shut and arched his back, his pretty little mouth open and gasping. “C’mon, c’mon, Ni,” he urged, gripping Niall’s shoulder, digging his nails in. 

Niall pulled back with a small smile, fingers massaging Harry’s hips for a second before pulling him forward, the head of his cock slipping between his cheeks. 

Harry whimpered. “Ni, c’mon,” he whined, “want you.”

“Yeah?” Niall said, reaching for his cock, guiding himself to Harry’s hole, and catching at his rim.

Harry nodded, rocking back against him, gasping as he sank down on Niall’s cock. He could feel Niall’s fingers grip his hips tighter, guiding him down, and he whimpered when the head of his cock nudged at that little bundle of nerves. Harry could feel his thighs clenching as he rocked his hips back and forth, and his eyes drifted shut at the overwhelming sensation. 

Niall’s head fell back against the lip of the Jacuzzi, his hips sliding down the little molded chair, and he let out a groan as Harry’s fingers slid from his shoulders down his abs, steadying himself. He realized it was happening before Harry did, when his boyfriend’s hands slipped and he fell forward, causing water to slosh over the side of the tub and douse some of the candles, and Niall found himself laughing as he wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist to steady him.

“Oops,” Harry whispered, peering over the edge of the tub and frowning at the little pool of water on the floor. “Sorry, I—“

“Don’t care about the floor, Harry,” Niall told him, sliding a hand into Harry’s curls and pulling him into a kiss, thrusting his hips up because, _fuck_ the last thing Harry needed to be worrying about was water on the floor, and Niall was determined distract him, get his mind off of it. 

“I— _Fuck,_ ” Harry gasped against Niall’s lips, stomach clenching as Niall fucked up into him. He lost the words that were on the tip of his tongue and could only focus on Niall’s hands on his body and his lips at his throat. 

Niall snapped his hips up, reached around Harry’s waist to fist his cock, knowing he wasn’t going to last that much longer. Harry’s back arched at the touch, a pretty little moan escaping his lips as Niall’s hand worked his cock. 

“Ni, I—“ Harry clenched his eyes shut, overwhelmed, and when he felt Niall’s lips trail down the front of his neck and to his nipple, biting at the small bud, he came. He dug his fingers into Niall’s shoulders as he rocked their hips together, riding out his orgasm, and he whimpered when he felt Niall release. He slumped down against Niall’s chest, breathing heavily, lazily slapping at his shoulder when he felt Niall lift his hips up and slide out of him. 

Niall sucked in a deep breath, slowly running a hand across Harry’s lower back until he could catch his breath. 

“Sorry about ruining your candles,” Harry whispered slowly, thoughtfully, “again,” he added with a pout.

Niall laughed, shaking his head. 

“And sorry about getting the floor all wet. I should clean that up.”

“Only you would be thinking about cleaning after a shag like that,” Niall commented, resting his head back against the edge of the Jacuzzi and letting his eyes drift shut. 

“I feel like they’ll know what we’ve been up to,” Harry admitted quietly, as if the whole thing was a conspiracy theory of sorts.

Niall opened his eyes long enough to roll them. “Haz, darling, we haven’t left this room in a week. I’m pretty sure the whole hotel knows what we’ve been up to. You aren’t exactly quiet,” he added with a grin.

Harry pouted. “You’re so mean to me. You’re lucky I love you,” he told him, fixing him with what was _supposed_ to be a stern glare, but he failed. 

Niall grinned, pulling him in for a quick kiss. “Very lucky you love me. I’m a very lucky lad.”

Harry flushed and shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal; as if his heart wasn’t about to beat out of his chest just from hearing the words leave Niall’s lips. “Yeah, well,” he said with another shrug. “I guess I’m lucky you love me, too, yeah?”

 

+

 

If Niall had thought that Harry’s outfit on New Years Eve was ridiculous and revealing and sexy (and for his eyes only, _thank you very much_ to the paparazzi who had photographed the two of them during the party and as they left the hotel the following week, _thank you_ ) then his outfit for the Grammy’s was positively obscene. Niall wasn’t sure why Harry thought a tight white shirt practically unbuttoned all of the way with a black blazer was a good look but—well, it _was._ And Niall couldn’t even be upset by the way he could tell everyone around was staring at his boyfriend; he could barely stop himself from staring. And when he was onstage with Ed, per Ed’s request of course, accepting the award for Song of the Year, the only thing he could see was Harry. 

And it was the same routine for the Brit Awards the following month, where Niall had made the entire day about his boyfriend to make up for the fact that he had been traveling on his birthday. (Harry insisted it wasn’t a big deal, but Niall knew better, knew Harry had been sad that Niall wasn’t there—a call on Skype could only do _so much_ from the other side of the world, and Niall was determined to make it up to him.) And when Harry stepped out of Niall’s bathroom in skin-tight jeans and a sheer black shirt unbuttoned to his navel, Niall lost the ability to speak for a moment before grabbing his boyfriend’s hips and pulling him down onto the bed.

(They were nearly late for the show.)

And when Niall won the Brit Award for Producer of the Year, he couldn’t stop smiling and laughing. And he hadn’t prepared a speech, of course he hadn’t—he never thought he was going to win. Whenever he received a nomination, he tweeted his thanks and went about his day, because he never liked to assume. (He could practically hear Harry in the back of his mind chastising him; his boyfriend had been trying to get him to write _something_ down for weeks.) He could see Ed smiling at him, giving him a thumb’s up, and he could see Louis and Liam cheering him on, but the only thing he could focus on was Harry’s wide smile in the crowd. And Niall found himself thanking as many people as he could remember, sure he was leaving someone out, even saying as much onstage, but as soon as Harry’s name left his mouth, everything felt _right._

When he stumbled off of the stage and back to his seat, his hand finding Harry’s without hesitation, their lips meeting quickly, he knew what he had to do.

“Move in with me.”

Harry laughed, cheeks flushed as he smoothed a hand down Niall’s chest. “What?”

Niall shrugged. “You’re my boyfriend. I love you. Move in with me,” he said again.

“Niall, there’s cameras—“

“I know. I don’t care,” Niall told him with another shrug. “You know you’re going to hate wherever I put this thing up and move it a minute later.”

“So you want me to move in so I can redecorate your flat?”

Niall laughed, leaning in to kiss Harry quickly, thankful when he could see out of his peripheral the cameras move around the room again. As used to the cameras and fame as he was, there was nothing better than having a private moment with Harry. “No, I want you to move in with me because I’m in love with you.”

Harry’s cheeks flushed pink and he tugged at Niall’s hand, pulling him in for a kiss. “Then I’ll move in with you. Because I’m in love with you.”


End file.
